


Headhunting

by yonnna



Category: Baccano!, Durarara!!
Genre: Gen, celty: i have no mouth and i must scream, just some immortal shenanigans
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-19
Updated: 2018-01-19
Packaged: 2019-03-06 16:33:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,557
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13415241
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yonnna/pseuds/yonnna
Summary: Everything comes in threes: a missing boy, a missing head, a missing dinner guest. Two losses and a win.Elmer contemplates how to get a smile from a woman without a face. Meanwhile, Nile runs into confrontation like a heat-seeking missile, and Sylvie’s hopes for a dignified evening are torn asunder. Phil learns several important lessons; no one else seems to learn anything at all.





	Headhunting

**Author's Note:**

> I’m well into a continuation of this but since writing is slow and this felt like a good contained section, I figured I’d do it by chapters.

Elmer slammed his hand down on the button at exactly the wrong moment and grinned as though it was exactly the right one.

There was a  _clink_ as the mechanism locked into place. The claw closed slow, grasping for the last tufts of hair on the rabbit’s ear but hardly even grazing. For one fleeting moment it clung on, then it slipped through and fell with a soft thud against the other stuffed toys, missing the target by a milestone. Elmer lost the way a winner does, the way a competitor does; he lost smiling, shrugging, shoving another coin in the machine. He lost raring to try again.

He was up to attempt twenty-one.

“This time for sure,” he said, reaching for the joystick. He leaned forward until his nose bumped against the glass and squinted at the pile of toys, estimating by eye a new route to success.

“You keep  _saying_ that,” and it was true, he did. He repeated it once more for good measure just as the stuffed animal — a lion, this time — dropped short of the mark.

Attempt twenty-two. Another coin. He cracked his knuckles and —

“Don’t blame me when you don’t have any money left for dinner tonight.”

Grabbed the joystick again, yanking it to the side with force.

“C’mon, Sylvie, I know you wouldn’t let me starve.”

“You wouldn’t starve,” she spoke through her nose. “Even a normal person wouldn’t starve after missing one meal.”

“You got me there!” He laughed, so booming and so close to the glass that it was a wonder it didn’t shake. “Guess it’s not a problem, then, right?”

“Just because it’s not a problem for you —” She let out a huff of breath. “How do you think it will make  _us_ look if you don’t order anyth-!”

She screeched suddenly, sounding far too girlish in the process. The machine she had been leaning against was chiming wildly, like church bells for a wedding. When he looked over his shoulder her face was burning red, stark on her pale skin -- by the looks of it, she was more embarrassed to have been startled than she was startled at this point. She scowled, and he grinned.

“Sounds like someone lucked out!”

Meanwhile, the claw clanked open, winning him nothing.

Phil emerged from around the corner, shuffling her feet against the floor.

“Master Elmer, I believe something is happening,” she murmured, pointing her finger limply behind her.

“Was that you, Phil?” Elmer clapped a hand on his leg and stooped to beam at her. She gave a small nod. “That means you won! That’s fantastic! Hey, could you smile a little brighter? Just a little, huh?”

“I… won?” She tilted her head, and Elmer took in a big breath of air, eager to explain.

“You should be asking for tips instead of smiles,” groaned Sylvie before he could speak. She narrowed her eyes at the crane game behind him and let out a long, wistful sigh.

“At this rate we’re never going to make it to the shops,” she muttered, dragging her hand down the side of her face. Her lips were drawn into a thin frown; it was not an unusual expression on her — at times Sylvie seemed to frown even when she was smiling — but it gave Elmer pause. It occurred to him that he and Phil were dressed for the arcade, t-shirts and jeans, but that Sylvie, in her designer dress, decidedly was  _not_.

Most days, they went their separate ways.

It wasn’t that they didn’t want to be around each other, only that they had vastly different interests, between them — discounting Phil, who rarely expressed any preference. They would reunite over dinner, or, more often, over breakfast; Nile was wont to wander off in the night seeking cures for his restlessness. He did not sleep well. The rest of them knew this and did not press him on it. Denkuro did not sleep well, either. Elmer figured this out, because he had seen him once or twice following Nile out of the hotel lobby in the small hours of the night. He wasn’t one to talk, though. If he had been awake to see it, maybe that meant he did not always sleep well, himself.

Sylvie slept well — probably. She was beautiful, in that glowing, healthy sort of way, and people who were beautiful like that had to get enough rest, he figured. On multiple occasions she had crossed the hall to knock on Elmer’s door because he was watching movies too loudly too late, which at least meant she  _cared about_  sleeping well.

Sylvie cared about a lot of things that Elmer never thought to care about. Sleeping was one of them. Apparently, this was another. He should have thought about it; if he had, he might have pieced together that Sylvie was not dressed for playing games in a crowded arcade, that she did not play games even when she was dressed for it, that she had suggested coming along only begrudgingly, only after he’d insisted on taking Phil — the Phil who lived with her — out for the day.

It occurred to him, rather abruptly, that Sylvie was not here because she wanted to be. She was here because she did not  _trust_ him.

When this dawned on him, he thought about it for a long moment.

Then, he shrugged it off.

“Go on ahead,” he said, and dropped another coin in the slot. “I’ll look after Phil here. It’s no problem!” he said, although he was not so much as  _looking_ at Phil, let alone looking after her.

He was already turned back to the game, his brow furrowed in concentration as the crane edged along the inside of the glass. The mirror at the back of the box reflected Sylvie’s narrowed eyes.

“Aren’t you busy with your game?”

“Well, sure.” He shrugged with one shoulder, leaning forward with the other to drag the crane left. “But I can quit if it’ll make you happy.”

“... Really?” She raised her chin, something between hope and skepticism written onto her expression. That was fair, Elmer thought. He’d sworn less than half an hour ago that he wasn’t going to quit until he won — but that had been for the sake of winning something to cheer Phil up, and Phil had her own win now. If there were more smiles to be gained in stopping, then that was that. “You’ll really give up?”

He turned. “You’ll really smile?”

Sylvie studied him, weighing his untrustworthiness against her impatience.

“If you watch Phil,” she pressed. “And that means watch her, Elmer. No getting distracted by games, no running off on your own,  _absolutely_ no chasing after upset strangers,” — Elmer chuckled. Sylvie glared, but then her voice softened. “ _If_ you do that, I’m sure I’ll have a smile for you.”

Elmer nodded. “One condition,” he said, raising his index finger in the air.

“You’re not the one who should be making conditions.” She huffed, folding her arms over her chest. “What is it?”

“You have to show me at least half a smile now, alright?” Seeing her quizzical look, he explained, “Think of it as a deposit!”

“I suppose that’s fair,” she conceded after a beat, lips curling lopsided. “We’ll meet at the restaurant,” — She turned to say goodbye to Phil, who was collecting her winnings, but first glanced back to add, “On time, please.”

 

* * *

If Celty could speak, she might have screamed.

Celty couldn’t speak, of course. Instead, the frustration gnawed at her throat soundless. It scraped and clawed its way up until she felt the impression of a headache, like a shock of pain to a phantom limb, in the space where her head should have been.

It had sounded like such an easy job when she’d accepted it that morning. A week ago she had acted as courier in a deal between two local gangs, and had learned that they were at war only when she was caught in the crossfire of what was revealed to be an underhanded scheme by her client to lure the other side out. She had come away with no injuries and no complaints. Trouble like this came with her line of work, and since there were not many other options available to her, she learned to grin and --- well, no, she didn’t  _grin_ , she couldn’t grin, but she learned to bear it. That didn’t mean she sought trouble out, though, and when she had received the call about  _this_ job, a simple pick-up-drop-off situation involving no gangs, no yakuza, no murderers, it would be a lie to say she had not been relieved.

That relief had shown itself to be fleeting as a sunshower.

Not everyone in Ikebukuro was a dangerous person. Not everyone was a threat or a risk. Once in a blue moon, when the stars aligned all wrong, Celty came upon someone who was simply a  _difficult_ person.

This was worse; dangerous people could be agreeable, but difficult people would always be difficult.

« please »

She tapped away at her PDA and quickened her footsteps, a deathly combination that almost sent her colliding with a pinball machine. The boy — the unwilling object of this run, fourteen years old, rebellious streak, pretending not to see her —rushed on, tossing a game token up in the air and catching it in his fist in fast repetition.

« please just come with me »

« I can call your grandfather if you don’t believe me »

« I have his message saved! I can show you »

The question had arisen that morning why anyone would need to hire an underground courier to retrieve their teenage grandson from an arcade. Her client had assured her then that the boy was not in any danger — that she would not be putting herself in any danger by picking him up — and she had taken that answer as reassurance enough. It was an odd request, but that made it quaint. How often did she get to complete such a simple, straightforward task? she had thought. For an instant, she had almost felt like a normal human being with a normal human job.

She should have pressed him for more information. She didn't, because normality had the allure of a daydream.

Presently, the boy was hopping into the cushioned seat of a racing simulator, ignoring her even as she was looming over him, pointing to her PDA screen. Celty never felt more spectral than she did in that moment, and she was made mostly out of shadows.

« He’ll worry about you if you’re not ba »

A series of bells sounded, startlingly loud, and she fumbled with the device in her hands. Even the boy looked up from his game at this, peering over the back of the seat with eyebrows raised high in curiosity.

“Woah! No way!” He stared for a moment longer before leaping to his feet. “No one ever wins that one!” Celty couldn’t tell whether he was speaking to her; if he was, it was the first time he had acknowledged her since she had found him.

If she had lungs, she would have sighed. Of course, lungs were among the many things Celty did not have — lungs, a head, a normal human job, time to waste — so she typed.

« He said to bring you back before 5 »

He was facing her now, staring directly at the screen, but the only response she got was a shake of his head.

“I’m gonna go see who won. You can come, if you want.”

Celty did not want that. Celty wanted to drop this boy off with his grandfather, collect her payment, and go home.

But what Celty wanted didn’t factor in. He was already hurrying through the crowd to the source of the noise. She lifted her shoulders into a half-hearted shrug and followed.

 

* * *

“So! What'll it be?”

“Um… hm.”

Phil tilted her head, trailing her finger along the glass of the display case as she took in her choices. Beside her, Elmer was bouncing on his heels, awaiting her answer. There was a plugin disco ball that shone every colour in the rainbow as it spun, a dart set, toy guns, a dozen stuffed animals, and —

“That one, please.”

Elmer kneeled to see where she was pointing.

“The alien?”

“Alien,” she repeated, testing the new word out. She had simply liked the way it looked; it was green, with big black eyes and a toothy smile. A smile like Elmer’s. It had a friendly air about it, she had decided. “Alien?”

“Yep! From outerspace!”

She stared at him wide-eyed.

“It came from outerspace?” she asked, blinking. “Did it… fall down here, Master Elmer?”

“Well, the  _plushie_ didn't come from space.” He straightened, closing his eyes. Then, he grinned. “At least, it probably didn't. You never know!”

Phil nodded in mute agreement. It was true: she rarely  _did_ know — anything, anything at all. Stuffed aliens could fall from the sky every day in this country and Phil would be none the wiser.

The clerk finished helping the customer in front of them, and Elmer stepped forward to make the request for her. He handed over her tickets, and the clerk handed over the stuffed alien.

“There you go!” said Elmer, stooping to her height and holding it out for her to take. She reached her hand out.

“—!”

And stopped when a boy stepped between them. He was speaking excitedly — in Japanese, as was to be expected. She knew a little by now, but his words were tumbling out with such speed and enthusiasm that she could only look helplessly over her shoulder in the hopes that Elmer would sense her confusion.

Fortunately, he did.

“He wants to know if you were the one who won that game over there,” he explained, setting a hand on her shoulder.

Phil nodded slowly. The boy grinned and opened his mouth to continue, but was stopped as abruptly as she had been.

« please just hold still for a minute »

He was grabbed by the arm and tugged aside by a woman in biker gear. She was pointing frantically to her PDA. The boy only groaned upon reading the words there. Phil couldn't help being drawn to look, too, even though she couldn't do much more than sound out the characters.

Elmer set his hands on his hips and craned his neck down to speak to the boy. Phil watched on in puzzlement.

“Say, is this your mom? Or maybe your big sister?”  

He glanced at the screen.

“Hey, you know, I don’t think she’s gonna be too happy with you if you don’t listen to her. Why don’t you slow down a sec’ and give her a chance to talk?”

Elmer’s words earned another groan from the boy and a vigorous nod of approval from the woman.

« that’s what I’ve been saying! »

“And tell you what,” he continued. “If you do what she says, I’ll even let you hold —” With a dramatic flourish, he revealed the stuffed alien from behind his back. “The grand prize!”

In that instant, there was a sudden, startling clatter. The first thing Phil noticed drop to the ground was the woman’s PDA; next came her helmet, rolling along at her feet as she stumbled backwards, knocking against the countertop.

 _Then_ came the scream.

“Hey now! There’s no need to get upset!”

Phil’s initial thought was that the scream had come from the woman, but when she looked up she found that this explanation fell through.

The woman couldn’t have screamed — because she did not have a mouth. More precisely, she did not have a head at all.

Elmer did not seem too shocked by this development. He was already trying to win laughter from the shaken boy — the actual source of the scream, Phil supposed. She caught the words ‘magic trick’, ‘cool’, ‘smile!’.

When she considered herself, Phil was not too shocked either. How could she be? She knew there were strange things in this world, and she knew she was one of them. If little green men could come to Earth from outer space and Elmer could survive dozens of deaths, then a woman could live without a head. It would almost be less logical if a person like this did  _not_ exist somewhere.

So Phil did not give a start, only observed quietly and watched as the boy backed away from Elmer and the biker slowly, slowly -- then ran as fast as his feet could carry him out the exit. 

 

* * *

“Celty, huh?” Elmer cracked open his can of soda, plopping himself down on the curb. “With a name like that, I’m guessing you’re not from around here either.”

About twenty minutes had passed since the incident in the arcade. After the boy made his dash for escape, the biker had hastily grabbed her helmet back up and went off to search for him. Elmer had followed because — well, because he was Elmer, and a stranger in distress was always his business, no matter how many promises he made to the contrary. They had searched up and down the street, and after a quarter of an hour Elmer suggested taking a break to talk the situation through; to Phil’s surprise, the biker had agreed, so they headed for the corner store, swapping stories on the way.

Her name was Celty, they had learned. She was a courier — specifically, she transported  _people_ , and that boy was part of her delivery. Phil was not sure this was how things ought to work, but Elmer seemed happy to help.

Elmer was always happy to help, after all. They grabbed snacks and soda cans and sat on the pavement outside to talk.

« Ireland » the woman typed. She had transitioned into writing in English after hearing Elmer speak to Phil; she seemed more than comfortable conversing in it, which made sense with this answer. Phil peered around Elmer to read. « A long time ago »

“Almost thought you were gonna say Mars there,” Elmer laughed, setting his drink down. “Or the  _underworld_ ,” he added, raising his hands to his face and wiggling his fingers to imitate claws. He grinned. “Ireland! I was in the UK, myself -- a long time ago, same as you. I’ve spent the past few years on the continent.” He stretched his arms up above his head. “Though, before that I was in the states for, say, a hundred and fifty - two hundred years or so?”

“Master Elmer,” Phil murmured her concern, tugging on his shirt.

« 200?!!! »

“Ah, I always forget I’m not supposed to say that part.”

If the woman could stare, Phil thought, she would be staring now.

« vampire????!!! »

Elmer chuckled loudly. “Nah, I’d be a really bad vampire. I like sunlight too much!” As if to prove his point, he tipped his head back to smile at the sky. “I’m actually a demon.”

“Master Elmer...”

« A DEMON? » The woman’s shadows suddenly collected in her hand.

“Oh, alright, alright! I’m just human,” Elmer spoke quickly. “Well, not  _just_ human. I’m also immortal — but human enough. I was born and everything! As a baby! Two legs, two arms, a head, the whole shebang!”

The tension in Celty’s posture faded in an instant, and she dropped her shoulders in relief.

“But Phil here,” Elmer continued slowly, holding back a snicker. “Phil is an  _ **alien**_!” 

She shrunk back.

“Nah, I’m kidding. She’s human, too. Well, more or less,” he said, scratching the back of his head. “Uh, more  _more_  than less, I guess. See, she’s a  _few_ humans.”

While Celty puzzled over this cryptic statement in her head, Elmer charged on.

“So! What about you? What’s the deal with the no head thing?” he asked, then took a gulp of his soda. “Even I can’t walk around with no head. Though, a friend of mine would probably say that I run around like a chicken with its head cut off half the time.”

« I’m a dullahan »

“What’s a dullahan, Master Elmer?” Phil asked with interest. Celty began typing, but Elmer beat her to the punch.

“It’s a sort of fairy.”

Seeing the tilt of Celty’s helmet, he laughed.

“I like fairy tales,” he explained. “They always have happy endings.”

« I hope you’re right about that » She hugged her arms around herself, slouching. Before Elmer could even ask, she answered: « I lost my head… a few decades ago »

Elmer’s brow furrowed. He placed his soda back down on the pavement and turned his full attention to her.

« I know that it’s here somewhere » she wrote, « but some days it feels like I’ll never find it »

“Hmm...” Elmer hummed quietly. “Say, if I found your head,” he said, “You’d be able to smile for me, wouldn’t you?”

Celty had to pause a moment before responding. « I guess. Right now I’d be happy enough if I could just finish this job - but »

“Alrighty then!” He shot up like a jack-in-the-box, tugging Phil up with him. “You focus on your work, Celty. We’ll handle this one,” he assured, grinning from ear to ear as he turned away. “C’mon, Phil, we’ve got a head to find.”

“But Mistress Sylvie said —”

“It’s only one city! It’ll take no time at all if we start now!” He looked back to give the bemused woman a big wave goodbye. “So let’s get a- _head_ of the game!”

**Author's Note:**

> Tune in next time for: Sylvie has the worst platonic dinner date ever, please help her, she just wants to have nice things


End file.
